


everything changes

by zach_stone



Series: hermann is dad [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fatherhood, Hermann Is Dad, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, uprising don't interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: As Hermann and Newt raise their first child, Hermann navigates his feelings about fatherhood.





	everything changes

**Author's Note:**

> i could dedicate this fic to SEVERAL people who eagerly hollered @ me every time i so much as MENTIONED hermann is dad 4 was coming. and here it is! the concept started out as "hermann cries while holding his own baby" and i really hope i delivered what y'all were dreaming of. 
> 
> especially dedicated to lex for suggesting this fic format be "5 times hermann cried while holding his baby and one time newt did," which isn't exactly how this turned out but it DID help me actually get this written; and to lindsey for being the number one fan of all my hermann is dad fics from the get-go. i finally did it! all for u, my friend.
> 
> fic title from "everything changes" from waitress the musical

Some weeks ago, when Hermann was prepping their home for the arrival of The Baby (always mentally spoken with initial caps, a formal title of sorts as they haven’t yet picked a name), he found himself holding a pair of newborn baby socks with little dinosaurs on them. He was sitting on the end of his and Newt’s bed, a pile of folded onesies and tiny footie pajamas next to him, and he stared at the — tiny, _so_ tiny — socks and felt his eyes inexplicably well up with tears.

Of course, Newt chose that moment to poke his head in the doorway and say cheerfully, “Hey honey, need any — whoa, dude, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hermann sniffled, holding the socks cupped in both hands and holding them out to Newt as if that would make him understand. “These socks are just… so very small.”

“Well, yeah,” Newt said, smiling bemusedly. “They gotta fit on teeny tiny feet.”

Hermann just shook his head, still feeling suddenly and wholly overwhelmed, and Newt came over to sit beside him. “I never had so much as a pet _fish_ growing up,” Hermann told him. “Newton, what if I make some terrible mistake?”

He watched as Newt took the socks out of his hands and laced their fingers together instead. “Bit late for second thoughts, bud,” he teased gently. “Hey, we’re gonna figure it out together, okay? Like we always do.”

“I don’t want to end up like my father,” Hermann muttered, leaning against Newt’s side. Newt rubbed his thumb over Hermann’s knuckles.

“You won’t,” he said simply.

“How do you _know_?” Hermann asked.

“I just know. Dad intuition,” Newt replied, grinning.

Hermann rolled his eyes, but had to admit he felt comforted all the same. 

 

* * *

 

Now, as he holds his hours-old daughter swaddled in a soft blanket and wearing the very same dinosaur socks, he is overcome with the conviction that she isn’t tiny at all — she is, instantly, the center of his universe. He can’t tear his eyes away from her ruddy little face, the fluff of dark hair on top of her head. Her tiny fist, pressed softly against her cheek as she sleeps. He hasn’t been this simultaneously terrified and overjoyed since he took Newt’s hand and plunged into the Drift together. Newt is watching their daughter now, too, resting his cheek on Hermann’s shoulder and hooking his arm loosely around Hermann’s waist.

Then her eyes open, wide and dark, and she stares up at him with the funniest quizzical look. Hermann smiles so wide it hurts.

“Hello, little one,” he whispers. She looks from Hermann to Newt, and Newt shifts to sit up a bit, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek.

“Hey kiddo,” Newt says. “Remember me? I’m your dad. And that’s your papa.”

Something about hearing himself referred to that way makes the thread of composure Hermann has been clinging to fall apart, and his vision blurs.

“Aw, Hermann,” Newt says, fond. “Here, lemme take her before you cry all over her.”

“I’m not going to cry on her,” Hermann says stubbornly, even as he feels a tear escape and slide down the end of his nose. He glances at Newt, who is grinning at him with unabashed affection. With a sigh, Hermann passes the baby to him.

“God, she’s so goofy looking,” Newt says, cradling her close. “She looks like a tiny old man.”

Hermann can’t hold back his laugh at that, because — well, she _does_. “Don’t make fun of her,” he says anyway. “She’s perfect.”

“Yeah,” Newt says, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “She is, huh?” 

 

* * *

 

They name her Fiona, and over the next few weeks Hermann learns several things about himself: he cries whenever Fiona does (and sometimes even when she doesn’t), he adjusts remarkably quickly to getting less sleep again, and he wants to hold his daughter pretty much all the time. He’s holding her now, three weeks old and snoozing in the safety of his arms. He and Newt are sitting on the couch with Newt’s laptop, skyping with Newt’s father. Jacob has been fawning over his new granddaughter for the past twenty minutes.

“You kids did good,” Jacob is saying, beaming with paternal pride. “When do I get to meet her in person, huh?”

“Whenever you want to fly over here, gramps,” Newt replies, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, that’s another thing we should discuss — what’s she gonna call me?” Jacob says. “I never agreed to ‘gramps.’”

“How about ‘old man’?” Newt says innocently. Jacob barks out a laugh, and Newt’s grin, barely concealed, spreads across his face.

“You little twerp, talking to your poor ol’ dad like that? Who raised you?”

“You!” Newt exclaims.

Hermann watches the two of them with a soft, private smile. There’s something about the way Newt interacts with his father that Hermann has always appreciated, and perhaps envied a little bit, too. There is no situation in which he can imagine himself teasing his father the way Newt does, nor any universe where Lars Gottlieb would laugh delightedly and tease back. Hermann is overwhelmingly grateful for the way Jacob Geiszler embraced him as a son almost immediately. It’s more than he could have hoped for, being a part of Newt’s family this way. He’s struck now, however, with a different kind of realization — this is the kind of relationship he could have with Fiona. One of trust, a kindness and affection Hermann never received in his own childhood.

He only realizes he’s staring soppily down at Fiona and completely tuning out the conversation Newt and his father are having when he hears Jacob say, “Well, would you look at that. Fatherhood’s a good look on you, Hermann.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, blushing. He side-eyes Newt, who is watching him with a warm, open expression. “Thank you.” He’s not sure he believes what Jacob’s saying, but he hopes that it’s true. He wants it to be.

 

* * *

 

They’ve timed things rather well, Hermann thinks — Fiona was born just as the semester ended, so they have the entire summer to stay home with her, with no outside obligations. The only downside is that it’s _hot_ , and the air conditioning in their apartment has never been the best. Soon, they’re going to have to move into a house, Hermann thinks. He’d quite like to have a yard, where they could put up a swing set and Newt could have a garden. He imagines Fiona toddling after Newt in a tiny pair of overalls and boots as he teachers her about various plants and bugs.

For now, though, he’s stuck in their shoddily-cooled apartment with a sweaty, fussy baby. One afternoon, Newt is out at the store, and Hermann has been trying desperately to get Fiona down for a nap almost the entire time. He’s sat with her in the rocking chair, put her in the baby carrier and walked her around the living room — she’s miserable, and Hermann is on the verge of tears himself, mostly in frustration. Fiona is a month and a half old and he still can’t seem to get this right.

“It’s too blasted hot,” he mutters to himself, easing onto the couch and leaning his cane against the end table. He strokes Fiona’s sweaty forehead. He’s wearing clothes he would never wear if it weren’t for the heat, an old T-shirt of Newt’s and the singular pair of shorts he owns. Fiona is in just a little onesie that has an outer space pattern. “That’s the trouble, isn’t it, love? It’s just too warm for you,” he adds. She lets out a particularly pointed wail in response.

He gets an idea, or perhaps just desperation and exhaustion take over. There’s an oscillating fan in their living room, and if he lays down on the couch it will pass directly over him. He shifts onto his back, cradling Fiona against his chest. Her whimpers subside when the fan blows on her, and her face scrunches up into that confused little expression that Hermann loves so much. She snuffles, pressing her cheek against his shirt, and then yawns.

“That’s right, sweetpea. You’re all right.” He rubs her back and finds himself dozing off as she does.

He wakes some time later to the sound of the front door opening. Cracking one eye open, he watches Newt attempt to quietly shuffle into the kitchen with an armful of grocery bags — “attempt” being the operative word. He manages not to wake Fiona, which is a small blessing. When he’s set the food down on the counter, Newt creeps back into the living room and kneels down beside the couch, kissing Fiona’s forehead and then Hermann’s.

“I got ice cream,” Newt tells him in his best attempt at a whisper. “And that lemonade you like. Do you want anything?”

“Not right now,” Hermann says, smiling drowsily. “Darling, you’re blocking the air flow.”

Newt snickers. “Oh, I’m _terribly_ sorry.” Rising to his feet, he moves over to Hermann’s legs and worms his way under them so he’s sitting on the couch with Hermann’s feet in his lap. He rubs a hand soothingly along Hermann’s calf. “Everything go okay while I was out?”

“I had some trouble getting her to sleep,” Hermann murmurs, frowning. “I sometimes feel I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Newt smiled slightly. “But you figured something out, obviously. Give yourself some credit, dude.”

Hermann returns Newt’s smile, hesitantly. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” he agrees. Newt hums his agreement, tipping his head back to rest against the back of the couch, his hand still massaging Hermann’s leg. They end up falling asleep that way.

 

* * *

 

Summer eventually fades to autumn, and before they know it Fiona is six months old and already precocious — Newt predicts she’ll be walking long before her first birthday. She’s started speaking now, too, just a handful of simple words and a lot more nonsense noises, but Hermann still feels his heart clench every time she points a chubby finger at him and shouts, “Papa!”

Now that she’s getting a bit older, Hermann is more determined than ever to help her cognitive development in every way possible. He speaks to her in full sentences, he buys her even more educational toys, and he reads her children’s books about science every night.

Newt has his own ideas on cognitive development, most of them involving introducing her to “real music” and ensuring she has the same… _skill_ seems generous, but at the very least the same _appreciation_ for dancing as her father. It’s not unusual for Hermann to find the two of them in the living room, some record or another playing as Newt twirls around the room with a giggly Fiona in his arms. Today, he’s foregone the record altogether, instead singing in his endearingly scratchy, not-quite-on-pitch voice. Hermann watches from the doorway, smiling as he recognizes the tune.

“On the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true,” Newt sings, lifting Fiona into the air and laughing when she waves her hands excitedly. “So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair, and starlight shining in your eyes of… uh, brown.” He glances over and catches sight of Hermann, smiling sheepishly. “Doesn’t quite work with the rhyming scheme.”

Hermann crosses into the room, and Fiona babbles when she catches sight of him. “What are you two up to, hm?” he asks her. “Are you dancing?”

“I’m teaching her all my best moves,” Newt says. He shifts Fiona in his arms so she’s facing Hermann, and her chubby little legs kick out. “Yeah, show him how good your wiggles are!”

Fiona lets out a shriek of delight when Hermann tickles her tummy. Newt is beaming at them both, and Hermann is suddenly so overwhelmed with the notion that this life is _his_ , that these two people make up a world he never expected to have — he closes the small distance between himself and Newt, wrapping both him and Fiona up in his arms and pressing a kiss to Newt’s mouth. Fiona whines indignantly at the sudden shift in attention, and Newt and Hermann both share a laugh.

“Alright, one for you, too,” Hermann tells her, and kisses the side of her head. Newt follows suit, blowing a raspberry on her cheek, and she’s instantly giggly once more.

Over the top of her head, Newt catches Hermann’s eye and mouths, _I love you_. Hermann hugs him closer in response.

 

* * *

 

Hermann likes to think that, over the past several months, he’s gotten somewhat adept at being a father. He doubts himself less often, and for the most part he understands his daughter’s quirks and ever-increasing vocabulary. He doesn’t even cry when she cries anymore.

Something he’s still trying to shake is the stirrings of self-doubt that appear any time he can’t immediately calm Fiona down. It’s something Newt never seems to have trouble with — he can just _tell_ what will stop her crying and get her giggling instead. Hermann is grateful for this, of course, and there’s no one on earth he’d rather be the father of his child, but he can’t help but feel a bit jealous at times. Newt seems so unruffled by anything parenthood throws his way.

Which is why Hermann’s rather surprised when he finds Newt unsuccessfully trying to soothe an apparently inconsolable Fiona — no amount of Newt rubbing her back or bouncing her gently seems to be doing any good.

“What’s the matter?” Hermann asks, hurrying over to them.

“No idea,” Newt says. He looks distressed. “She doesn’t need a diaper change, she’s not hungry… something’s got her in a mood.”

Hermann reaches over to stroke Fiona’s hair. “What is it, love?”

He isn’t expecting any sort of response from her, obviously. But to his surprise, Fiona’s crying eases up at his soft touch, and stops entirely at the sound of his voice. She turns her head to look at him, and her face splits into a drooly grin. “Papa!” She reaches for him.

“Well then,” Hermann says, puzzled, and hoists her one-armed so that she can sit on his good hip. She’s completely content, patting at his shoulder with both hands.

“I guess she just wanted her papa, huh?” Newt says. And of course that immediately has tears pricking in Hermann’s eyes, damn it all, and even more embarrassingly, Newt notices right away. “Babe, don’t _you_ start crying now!”

“Oh, hell,” Hermann mutters, looking at the ceiling and trying to stop himself before he starts getting legitimately weepy.

“Oh hell,” Fiona repeats solemnly.

Newt and Hermann both stare at her in astonished silence for a long moment. Then Newt bursts out laughing.

“Dude, you just taught our daughter her first swear word! I always thought it was gonna be me!” He’s laughing so hard he’s practically bent double, and Hermann cracks a smile despite himself. Fiona, oblivious but always pleased to have made her fathers laugh, claps her hands.

Hermann knows he will likely never be a _perfect_ father, but he thinks he’s becoming quite a good one. And that, after all, is all he’s ever hoped to be.

**Author's Note:**

> hermann and newt's daughter is named after my little sister bc i couldn't think of any other names. plus it's a nice name. :)
> 
> if u also love dad hermann content, hmu on twitter @hermanngottiieb !! 
> 
> comments always deeply appreciated <3 catch y'all later


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